


Thief

by daehyunsleggings



Category: B.A.P
Genre: M/M, Skyrim AU, and I hope you enjoy it, and it's gonna be great, it's like if B.A.P were actually in Skyrim, like i'm talking full on Thieves Guild and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daehyunsleggings/pseuds/daehyunsleggings
Summary: Junhong's been on his own his whole life. An orphan sent to Riften, he had no money and no promising future. What he did have, however, were quick feet and light fingertips - two characteristics of an amazing thief. He ended up basically running the Thieves Guild, completely unchallenged. Almost.Then, one day, this thief named Youngjae showed up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST: This is rated ages 13 and up because there will be mentions of violence, but it has no archive warnings because the violence will only be mentioned, not graphic.  
> SECOND: OKAY LISTEN IF YOU DON'T PLAY SKYRIM YOU ARE GOING TO BE VERY VERY CONFUSED. I did my best to explain things, but it's probably not enough, since I'm not the best at worldbuilding. So I made maps! Copy and paste these links. This is the map layout for the Cistern: http://puu.sh/sx1Gr/40abdefd38.jpg and this is the map layout for Riften, with the flower being where the secret entrance from the Cistern exits to: http://puu.sh/sx1IL/5b0f8c48b4.jpg  
> And, if you're wondering, Brynjolf is one of the most beloved characters in Skyrim. In the game, he's the one who basically asks the main character if they'd like to join the Thieves Guild and makes them run a little trial to test their skill. I have him holding the spot of the Guildmaster because, while he's never the Guildmaster in the game, I adore Brynjolf and, in the game, the Dragonborn is the one who becomes the Guildmaster. The Dragonborn will not be a character in this fic. This fic assumes that the Dragonborn is the Guildmaster but kind of disappeared indefinitely and it is important to Junhong very obviously since he very dearly wants that position. If that's confusing, then just know this: Brynjolf is the Guildmaster, but he kind of hates being the Guildmaster, and Junhong wants to take his position. That's all that's important.  
> Also, just in case you were confused, all of the Daedric Lords in Skyrim are 1) genderless, 2) can take the form of any human body they want, and 3) are referred to as Daedric Princes, regardless of how they present themselves.

Junhong had been holding his breath so hard. Poor kid, only fourteen at the time, didn’t have much of a lung capacity. He had been trying to stay absolutely frozen. The wardrobe doors hadn’t been completely closed. One move and the guards would have been inside, dragging the little thieving urchin into the Keep. He couldn’t have held his breath much longer, but then the mistress had gotten called back into the kitchen.

He had let out his breath as slowly and quietly as possible. With the jeweled vase clutched tightly in his hand, he had opened the wardrobe door and climbed back out the window he’d come in.

At age fourteen, that little, golden vase with gemstones of all colors had put him on the radar of the Guild. He had thought the urn was all imitation with little value. He had been wrong. The gold and gems were all real, and the vase was worth upwards of two horses. Had he known that, he never would have set his hands on it.

But had he known that, he never would have found a way out of the poverty and danger of an orphan in Riften, and he never would have found a home. He’d be a beggar if not for the guild. Most importantly, he’d never have found anything reminiscent of a family. Of course, it wasn’t perfect, but it was close to a family.

That’s what the Guild was. Most of its members had been orphans, refugees, travellers, or runaways. Some of them had been bandits, others turned to theft for survival, but they all had damaged backgrounds. Junhong’s was the orphanage. Grelod the Kind had not been kind at all. She had been abusive and Junhong was glad he escaped.

The Guild had had their eyes on that vase for a while, and someone, later that day, broke in to steal it, only to find it gone. They had returned empty-handed and reported back to Brynjolf, only to hear him chuckle. Brynjolf, who was holding the place of the Guildmaster until further notice, had seen a scrawny little kid running down into the sewers with something tucked under his shirt. The jeweled vase had been right next to the ledger, already exchanged for by one of the Guild’s fences. A little kid had beaten out an experienced member of the Thieves Guild and sold it off to that same organization. That was a great way to gather attention.

The next day, Brynjolf, dressed in the clothing of a noble with his reddish hair combed back, had walked into the orphanage, saying he wanted to adopt a child. He found Junhong immediately and chose him. Grelod the Kind had tried to say that he needed to get it approved with the Jarl of Riften, but the sum of gold he put in front of her was enough to persuade her.

That same night, he’d sent Junhong to go steal it back. Three-hundred gold stolen back out of the hands of a greedy woman was exchanged for Junhong’s apprenticeship as a thief in the Guild.

The Guild had a sinister impact on the reputation of the town of Riften, but the theft didn’t stay there. The entirety of Skyrim had been mapped out in Shadowmarks, little symbols of Guild code denoting what each building was. Some were marked as places with loot, others as associates of the Guild, and so on. Junhong frequently went all around the land on heists. He made quite the pretty penny, too.

Junhong, now seventeen, looked back at his beginnings with the Guild with a sense of sentiment and pride. He’d come so far. He could afford any house in Skyrim, but the lodging in the Guild was good enough for him. The Guildmaster was still gone on indefinite leave, so Junhong had high hopes. After all, he’d been making the Guild rich for three years and bolstering its notorious reputation. He was certainly the best candidate, and Brynjolf didn’t seem to enjoy the position much. Leading was never really his thing.

The issue with Junhong taking up the position of Guildmaster was that he was gone a lot. At sixteen, he’d accidentally found his way into the Dark Brotherhood, a group of contracting assassins allowed to take out their targets in any way. That had him running across the country often. He’d usually double up on targets for the Brotherhood and heists for the Guild and commit multiple crimes in a single night. He’d be at the Guild a lot, but probably not enough to hold the top position. Even so, Junhong was somewhat of an honorary Guildmaster, training the new apprentices and determining if they’d pay off for the Guild in the long run.

That was his job that day, actually. A thief had shown up at the door with a bag of stolen treasures and asked for a fence to sell them to. He was a good thief, but a horrible appraiser, so the Guild basically robbed him, but they offered him apprenticeship in return. Junhong was to teach him the ins and outs of Guild life, starting with the lockpicking practice room and ending with his quest for the night. If he succeeded, he’d be on his way to almost-independent thievery, only needing to check in with the Guild for his rewards. Still, though, that was a bit of a rough road to find, what with Junhong seemingly stealing everything in seconds.

Junhong looked at the apprentice skeptically. He wore a long, olive-green coat over leather armor with a fragile little dagger sheathed in his belt. His black hair seemed to have been washed recently, as though he’d bathed just to make a good impression. Most didn’t bathe much, but some took daily trips to the river to clean themselves. From his flawless skin, it looked like this apprentice did that. Junhong was glad. The smell of the Guild was already bad, what with it being right next to a sewer. He didn’t want another smelly apprentice.

He approached the newcomer, running a hand through his black hair. He then extended his hand out for a handshake. It was returned quickly.

“Name?” Junhong asked.

“Youngjae. Yoo.”

“Age?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen, huh,” Junhong mumbled. “You may be my elder, but I’m your senior. Got that?”

Youngjae nodded. He seemed startled that Junhong was younger than him, since he towered over him by almost a head. “Can I ask how old you are?”

“Not yet, rookie,” Junhong turned around, motioning for Youngjae to follow him. “Don’t want to build any emotional attachments, just in case you’re not up to par with what we expect.”

“Can I at least know your name?”

“Nope.” Junhong led him to the Cistern, ducking into a tunnel behind the Ragged Flagon, the base for the Guild. “This is a false wardrobe back,” he said as he slid it aside. “Follow, and replace it once you get through.”

Youngjae slid it back into place, then hurried to catch up to Junhong. He had followed the tunnel around a corner and was waiting with the door open. He mumbled an apology as he slipped inside.

The Guild, being underground, had water running over the indented part of the circular, stone floor. There were beds and chests along the walls for people to have their own little home since most of them couldn’t afford a real house. Four stone bridges connected four entrances like the one they’d come from in the center of the room. Wooden bridges were lain along the outer edge of the circle for easier and quicker movement without getting feet wet.

Junhong pointed over the bridge on their right. “That’s the exit to the secret entrance. Easier to get down here.” He turned to the left and waved his hand again. Youngjae followed quickly. Junhong led him through a few more short tunnels and they came out into a room where someone was shooting arrows at a dummy.

Youngjae looked around the room and saw a few chests in the corner on his right. “Lockpicking practice?”

“Yup. Archery targets are there if you please.” He turned back around and guided Youngjae out. They went off to the left again, passing by a huge shrine. Youngjae paused as they passed it.

“Who’s this?”

“The Daedric Prince Nocturnal,” Junhong said, stopping to look at the statue. “They’re somewhat of our patron lord. Not everyone believes in them, nor do they have to to be a good thief. It helps, though. There’s no religious ceremonies or anything. Just belief.” He looked at the prince in the stone. A Daedra in the body of a human. A hood covered the prince’s hair, and long robe stretched over their body, cutting low below their chest. The cloth did nothing to cover their thighs, barely covering the area in between. Their hands were outstretched and gloved like the hands of a thief. Junhong smiled, then led Youngjae to the left to a huge metal door. “This is the Guild stash. You can’t get in here, so don’t try.”

“Why’d you tell me about it if I can’t get in?”

“Because if I didn’t tell you, you’d try. They all do.”

Youngjae shrugged and nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Tour over. Come on.” Youngjae guided him to the left again to the secret entrance he’d mentioned. He took the lead in climbing a ladder and pushing wooden planks out of the way so they could get out. By the time Youngjae got up, he was already outside, standing in the graveyard just outside the entrance. Youngjae watched as he picked a flower nearby and set it on a grave.

“Did you lose someone?” he asked quietly as he walked up behind him.

Junhong froze, then shook his head. “No emotional attachments yet.” He turned around and took Youngjae’s wrist. “Come on, let me introduce you to your target.”

“Makes it sounds like this is an assassin mission.”

“Could be if you mess up and I have to save you.”

“You’ll probably need this, then,” Youngjae said. He held up a green, translucent dagger, one fingertip on the point of the blade as he examined it. “It’s pretty nice. Malachite, right?” He tossed it back to Junhong, who caught the handle with ease.

“And moonstone,” he said, offering Youngjae a small smile. Whether it was one of pride or one of malice, Youngjae didn’t know. Junhong slipped it back into the sheath. “Now, come on.” He led Youngjae past the Shrine of Talos and onto the cobblestone path that ended at the entrance of Mistveil Keep, the home of the Jarl and the rest of the royals. They went over the bridges that ran throughout the city due to it being built on a lake until Junhong stopped out in the town’s circular marketplace.

Junhong whistled softly as he walked up to one of the vendors that Youngjae knew to be named Madesi. Madesi was a jeweler, and Junhong was speaking to him as he looked at his wares. Youngjae smiled as Junhong angled his arm to hide that he was sliding a ring off of the table while looking at a necklace. Madesi said something to Junhong and Junhong looked surprised, then happy. He nodded, then turned back to Youngjae, gently kicking the ring in his direction. Youngjae bent over to pick it up, holding it in the palm of his hand.

“That’s mine,” Junhong said. He held out his hand, palm facing the sky. Youngjae shrugged and slid it onto Junhong’s ring finger with a smile.

“It’s pretty. Silver and ruby.”

“Not the most valuable thing in the world. I could have taken the gold and sapphire one, but, frankly, this one suits me better.” He smiled.“See that building over there?” He asked quietly, pointing past the marketplace at a log building with a forge and workbench outside of it. “That’s The Scorched Hammer.”

“Sounds like a smith.”

“Good, you’re learning.” Junhong turned away, pointing at another building. “This is just so people don’t suspect us when it gets robbed tonight. Look like you’re from out of town.”

“I am from out of town.”

“Good. Tell me where you’re from if you make it in.” He pointed to another building. “Now tell me, what do blacksmiths make? Nod your head.”

Youngjae nodded as though he was just told something about the town. “Weapons, apparel, and jewelry.”

“Good, good.” He put his hand on the small of Youngjae’s back, leading him out of the marketplace and down some wooden stairs to the lower half of Riften. They stopped moving once they got down there since nobody was ever outside in the lower half. It was too dangerous, since the Ratway was down there, and thus the Guild was down there. “Madesi - you know him, yes? The Argonian I-”

“Stole the ring from, yes.”

Junhong shrugged. “He told me that he was running low on jewelry and would be getting more tomorrow since the blacksmith just got a new shipment of gemstones.”

“You want me to break in and steal them?”

“That’s up to you. I do want you to break in, but how much you steal is up to you. If you think you can get away with all of it, then do that. If you can’t, take enough to make you be a valuable asset to the Guild.”

“And if I succeed, I’m an apprentice?”

“Yes.” Junhong leaned in close, putting his lips by Youngjae’s ear. “And then you’ll get to know all about me.”

“I can’t wait.”

Junhong leaned back again, a smile on his face. “If it means anything, good luck.”

Youngjae was about to say that he didn’t need luck, but he didn’t want to build himself up. If he’d learned anything in his studies about the history of Tamriel, it was that ego was a dangerous thing. He nodded.

Junhong turned, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Sun’s setting. Must be around the early evening. Dinner’s just finished. You could come back to the Guild and take a nap before you go.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They walked back around the city until they got back to the Guild, taking the secret entrance since it was faster and safer. Junhong showed Youngjae a bed that wasn’t claimed and said it’d be his after tonight if he succeeded. For now, though, it wasn’t his, so Junhong let Youngjae sleep in his bed instead.

A few hours later, Junhong shook Youngjae’s shoulder. “Stars have been out for a while. Go time, new kid.”

Youngjae sat up slowly, blinking his eyes. He yawned, then stood up, pointing at the water running around the bottom of the Cistern. “Is that clean?”

“Of course not.” Junhong pulled a canteen from his hip. “Here, drink this.”

“I was more worried about my vision. I can’t see well since I just woke up.” He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them with a gasp as water splashed in his face.

Junhong was grinning with the canteen. “Did that help?”

Youngjae was angry for a second, but it dissipated quickly, since it actually did help a lot. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You have enough lockpicks to get in?”

“Yup.”

“Go on, then.”

Youngjae nodded and turned to leave the Guild. He left through the secret entrance, noting how dark the graveyard was at night. He felt like it should have been a bit scary, but he wasn’t frightened at all.

He followed the cobblestone path out to the front of Mistveil Keep, then crossed the bridge to The Scorched Hammer. The only people out were guards with their torches, and none of them were close to Youngjae. He kneeled down quickly, fishing a knife and a lockpick from his bag. As he set to work, he noticed a carving on the stone door frame. He shrugged. The lock on the door was simple; nothing an amateur couldn’t pick. It was open in a few seconds. Youngjae returned his instruments to his bag and looked around, staying down. There were still no guards nearby, so he opened the door and slipped inside.

He closed the door quietly behind him, then looked around. To his left, a fireplace was burning, but it had little fuel left. In front of it was a small table, but it was empty. He quickly looked and found a stairway down to the cellar. He descended down the wooden steps slowly and quietly.

The jewels were in plain sight on a table in a corner next to various metal ingots. Curiously, they were only partially out of the bag. It was a rather small pouch, but gemstones weren’t very large, so it made sense. Youngjae quickly put them back into the pouch and took it, then looked around the room. He saw a strongbox and went over to it, pulling out his tools again. He picked it open quickly. Nobody in Skyrim was good at locking their things up. Not even the jailors. He took a sum of gold from the strongbox and closed it, locking it back up. Then, he turned around, slipping up the stairs. There was still no one walking about up there, so he went outside as quickly and silently as he had when he’d come in.

Youngjae saw a guard approaching the establishment and quickly shut the door, then ran around the corner, pressing himself against the wall. With what he’d taken, the only punishment suitable for him at the moment would be death. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut in fear, then looked again. The light from the torch was passing by him. He’d gone completely unnoticed. He let his breath out slowly so he wouldn’t be heard, then dashed away, back towards the guild.

“Did it,” he called out as he shimmied down the ladder into the Cistern. He turned and headed to a small desk with various treasures on shelves behind it. Junhong was there with his head on the desk, using his arms as a pillow. His eyes closed and his cheek gently pressed against his forearm as he slept. He looked so peaceful.

Youngjae shook him gently. Junhong groaned and sat up a moment later, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, it’s you.”

Youngjae set the pouch of gemstones on the table. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I knew it wouldn’t take you long.” Junhong opened the strings and looked in, then smiled.

“So, I’m an apprentice now?”

“Yeah.” He handed the pouch back to Youngjae. “You earned them. Good job. Welcome to the Guild. What’s the first thing you’re going to do as an official member? Fence off your other stolen goods? We won’t rip you off anymore.”

“Ask you your name.” Junhong blinked at him. “What is it?”

“Junhong, Choi.”

“Age?”

“Seventeen.”

“From?”

“Riften, born, orphaned, and raised.”

“How long have you been in the Guild?”

“You sure do ask a lot of questions.” Junhong stood up. “Come on. Your bed is right next to mine. At least let me rest while you’re asking.”

Youngjae opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and nodded. They walked over to their beds and Junhong sat down heavily, then threw himself back onto it. “Go on.”

“How long have you been in the Guild?” Youngjae repeated.

“Three years.”

“Are you the Guildmaster?”

Junhong hesitated, then said, “Do you think I am?”

“You’re certainly in control, at the very least.”

Junhong smiled, his eyes drifting shut. “That’s the dream, Youngjae. That’s the dream.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Rise and shine.”

“What?” Youngjae mumbled.

“Do you want me to dump more water on your face?”

Youngjae opened his eyes widely to see Junhong grinning down at him. He couldn’t tell if it was a playful grin or a mischievous one. “I’m up, I’m up,” he said, standing. “What’s the hurry?”

“You didn’t think your training was over, did you?” Zelo grabbed a book from his own bed. “I’m sure you saw the little scratched symbol on the doorframe of The Scorched Hammer, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Zelo opened the book to the page that held that same marking. “Shadowmarks. They map out Skyrim. Learn them.”

“You had to wake me up for this?”

“To be fair, the sun is high in the sky.”

“Thieves move at night.”

“They don’t have to if they’re good.”

Youngjae cocked his jaw in somewhat-fake offense. “Is that a challenge?”

“Not really. Just a statement.” He dropped a sack of gold coins on Youngjae’s bed. “That’s for the gem haul yesterday. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He took the book slowly and watched as Junhong walked back to his desk. He pulled out a quill, dipping it in ink and taking notes in a ledger. He really did seem to run the place. Certainly more than Brynjolf did.

As the months passed, Youngjae built up his reputation in the Guild quickly. Very quickly. Too quickly. It made Junhong nervous and, more than anything, furious.

One fine day came where an unfamiliar face showed up. So unfamiliar, in fact, that multiple thieves pulled weapons on the person. The only reason the person’s throat wasn’t slit was because of Brynjolf.

“Guys, enough! Don’t you recognize the Guildmaster when you see them?”

The thieves all immediately put their weapons away and mumbled apologies.

The Guildmaster chuckled. “I’ve been gone for years. I don’t blame them. I’ve heard good things, Brynjolf. Good job.”

“Thank you.” Brynjolf patted the Guildmaster’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time, buddy. I’ve missed you.”

“Unfortunately, you’ll be missing me more. I’ve come to revoke my status as Guildmaster and reassign it.”

Whispers and gasps filled the room.

“Silence,” the Guildmaster commanded. “Members, line up.”

The thieves moved quickly into a jagged line. Junhong stood tall, his poker face hiding his anxious heart. Youngjae stood beside him, wearing that same green trench coat he’d been wearing the first day.

The Guildmaster walked down the line, not giving most of the members the time of the day to even look at them. When he got to Youngjae, though, they paused. They looked him up and down.

“You. What’s your name?” they asked.

“Youngjae. Surname Yoo.”

Junhong’s blood boiled but he held his composure. He held all of the hope in his heart that Brynjolf had mentioned his feats to the Guildmaster. He’d wanted this for years. This newbie couldn’t be the one to take that from him. He just couldn’t.

But the Guildmaster didn’t even give Junhong a glance.

“Youngjae will be your new Guildmaster.” And with that, they departed, climbing up the ladder they’d come down with.

Cheers filled the room, but not from Junhong. He walked away quickly, facing Brynjolf. “Did you not tell the Guildmaster about me at all over these three years? Not even a mention in a letter about how I robbed countless tombs, or about how I took out multiple competing guilds, or about-”

“Calm down,” Brynjolf said, his voice hushed. “I told him about you in every single letter I wrote. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m sorry.”

Junhong apologized for lashing out, then walked away, sitting down on his bed. A few moments later, he got up, ruffling his hair in frustration. He left the Cistern and sat in the graveyard, the moonlight shining on the headstone of his mother. He bowed his head between his knees.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Mother,” he whispered. He touched the dirt of her grave gently. “I wanted to follow in your footsteps. I can’t believe this, this rookie took it from me.”

He looked up and saw a pale blue spirit floating in front of him. He could see his mother’s spirit when he was stressed out. She comforted him, even if she’d never had the chance to when he was a young boy. She held out her hand to him, and he took it, holding it tightly. It felt cold, as though it were just solid air; weightless, yet firm; an impossible paradox.

She opened her mouth and whispered gently to him, “He’s not the real Guildmaster.” Junhong blinked at her, confused. He was about to speak, but she placed a finger above his lips. “Talk to him.”

She dissipated a moment later, not even saying goodbye. Junhong was back to being furious. How could his mother tell him to talk to Youngjae?! That was the last thing he wanted to do! The only thing he wanted to do right now was break something. He was about to punch the ground, but he stopped his fist just a moment before contact.

He took a deep breath. His mother had never been wrong before. He went back into the Cistern, then headed to his chest in front of his bed. Sighing, he put his dagger away, just in case he got impulsive. Murder was not the way to become Guildmaster. He’d learned that from Brynjolf and the tales of Mercer Frey. He looked around for Youngjae, and found him at his desk, peering over the ledger. He clenched his fists, then relax. It wasn’t his desk, and it never had been his desk. He hadn’t lost anything to Youngjae yet.

He approached Youngjae slowly, putting on a look of indifference. The new Guildmaster looked up at him. He watched as a smug smile covered his face and used every bit of willpower he had not to deck him.

“Can I talk to you in private?” Junhong asked quietly.

“Ah, of course,” Youngjae said, straightening up. “Follow me.”

He didn’t wipe that smile off of his face, and it made Junhong even more angry.

They walked to the lockpicking practice room, both pleased it was empty. Youngjae sat down on a wooden chest, then looked at Junhong. “Yes?” His voice was mocking.

Junhong was fuming in a way that expressed itself with an edge sharper than a dagger in his voice. “How in the name of Nocturnal are you the new Guildmaster?”

Youngjae chuckled. Everything that he did just mocked Junhong. Everything. He lifted his hand and blue magic danced around his fingertips. “The school of illusion has felled empires,” he said, looking curiously at the swirling figures of the mist in his hand. “A little guild isn’t anything.”

Junhong raised a fist, prepared to swing, when Youngjae pointed at him. The magic left his palm and floated around Junhong for a second before flying into his chest. He suddenly felt calm and relaxed, but he knew it wasn’t right. The anger inside of him was fighting the spell. Still, it wasn’t enough. His rage dissipated slowly as the words Youngjae said suddenly made sense, made him unable to be mad.

“That’s true, but it’s unfair. I’ve been here a lot longer than you have.”

Youngjae smiled, then took Junhong’s hands. “Do you want to be the Guildmaster that much?”

Junhong nodded.

“If you date me, we can run the Guild together as boyfriends.”

Junhong jerked his hands away, shocked. He hesitated, and then said, “If I say yes, how do I know it’s not illusion magic?”

“All spells wear off.” Youngjae conjured a small, glowing rose. Junhong watched its petals wither and fall into his illuminated palm. “There’s no illusion magic related to love.”

“Maybe that’s because love itself is an illusion,” Junhong whispered, his voice laced with poison. “At least, loving you would have to be, you fake bastard.”

“Still bitter, I see.” Youngjae mumbled, conjuring some more glowing magic in his hands. “Maybe these don’t work on you as well.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t play with others to get your way.”

“Maybe.” Youngjae shrugged, dropping his hand. He snapped his fingers and Junhong lurched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees.

“What the hell did you do?” Junhong asked between pants. He felt nauseous. The world spun around him as he looked around. He tried to stand up, but there was no energy left in him, and even keeping himself from collapsing completely was hard. Youngjae was just a blur of green trench coat in front of him.

“I took the magic out of you.” Youngjae knelt down beside him, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no more illusion magic affecting you.” He pulled Junhong up and supported him, walking him out of the room.

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to hit you right now.”

“I know.” Youngjae sighed. He grunted and cast a spell. It made his boots glow green, and then Junhong’s world faded into black.

The first thing Junhong felt when he could feel again was something soft. He rolled over and groaned, slowly opening his eyes to the light filtering in the window. He looked down and saw a nice blanket on his body, his feet poking out from the bottom of it and dangling over the edge of the bed frame. He sat up quickly, fear causing adrenaline to pump through his veins. A dull pain bumped against his skull gently, but not enough to distract him. He pulled the blanket aside and stood up, his hand flying to his hip by instinct.

“For the love of Nocturnal,” he muttered. He was dressed in normal, civilian clothing. His dagger wasn’t there. Because he’d put it back so he wouldn’t stab Youngjae.

He was starting to regret that. Maybe later, he’d have Astrid arrange something with the Brotherhood. If he was still alive later. At the moment, though, Junhong was defenseless and furious. He looked around the room and found his armor sitting on a dresser, a note lying on top of it.

_You passed out, and since I don’t trust some of the Guild members, I brought you to my house. Meet me on the porch outside. Youngjae_

Junhong sighed in relief and quickly donned his armor. He pulled his bracers over his hands and stretched out his fingers, then opened the door. Looking around, he saw the empty cooking spit, its flames recently dampened so it could be easily lighted again. He cursed at his luck. A cast-iron pot was a strong blunt object and he could certainly at least knock Youngjae out with it, if not completely kill him. A twinkle in the corner caught his eye. A small candle on a shelf illuminated rows of bottles. Most of them were filled with liquids of many different colors, a few of them potions, a few of them poisons. He grabbed a small, empty bottle and slipped it into the pouch on the back of his chestpiece. Slowly, he opened the door outside.

A wave of sunlight and the smell of the sea flooded his senses. He squinted against the sky and used his hand to shade his eyes as he looked around. He turned the corner on his left and found Youngjae standing over a table, setting down bowls and plates. Junhong was reaching for his bottle when Youngjae turned around.

“You’re awake,” Youngjae said. A warm smile crossed his face. Junhong slowly let his hand drop, hoping Youngjae wouldn’t notice.

“I am,” Junhong said, his voice deep with sleep.

“It’s midday, so I made lunch.” He gestured to the table. The scent of stew and sweets filled Junhong’s senses and made him hungry and sleepy. “Care to join me?”

“How do I know you didn’t poison it?” Junhong asked, only half-serious. He rubbed one eye and sat down in one of the chairs.

Youngjae chuckled but didn’t respond. He sat down across from Junhong and placed a bowl and spoon in front of him. He was about to begin scooping the warm beef stew from a large pot when he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

“Switch bowls and spoons,” Junhong said. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

Youngjae switched their dishes, but Junhong could see something in his eyes while he did it. Annoyance? Anger? Fear?

Sadness?

Youngjae scooped the stew into Junhong’s bowl first, and by the time Youngjae had gotten his own bowl, Junhong was reaching for seconds. Youngjae swallowed one spoonful before he pulled a cloth off of a plate. “Apple dumplings,” he said, not making eye contact.

“Thank you,” Junhong said without thinking as he reached for one. He realized a moment later that he’d said something appreciative toward Youngjae and sighed. His eyes flicked upward and he saw Youngjae’s lips pulled into a small grin. It didn’t look malicious, so he set the dumpling on his napkin slowly, finishing his stew first.

“As I said, you passed out.” Youngjae scooped another bowl of stew for himself, emptying the pot. “Some of the Guild members have… doubtful histories. I didn’t think you’d be safe, completely passed out while everyone else was awake.”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything?” Junhong asked.

Youngjae sighed, setting his spoon in his bowl with a loud clank. “Okay, I understand. I took your precious Guildmaster title. I forced you to calm down with magic so you wouldn’t hurt me. I get it. But, to be fair, you’ve tried to hurt me more than I’ve tried to hurt you.” Youngjae lifted a small glass bottle, and Junhong’s hand flew to the pouch, only to find it empty. “You were probably going to smash this over my head.” He stood up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You swung at me multiple times.” He tossed the bottle haphazardly over the porch’s railing into the sea. “I didn’t do anything, but I can’t convince you, so believe what you want to.” He dropped his head and buried his face in his hands with a loud groan, then turned and went inside.

Junhong realized he hadn’t really meant the question. He felt guilty. He’d worked beside Youngjae long enough to know that he wouldn’t do anything to him, and he’d worked at the Guild long enough to know who Youngjae was talking about. He realized he was being kind of a jackass. He sighed and thought for a moment, then gathered up the bowls and dumplings and followed Youngjae.

“Apple dumpling,” Junhong mumbled, holding out the plate to Youngjae and avoiding his eyes.

“These are mine anyways,” Youngjae muttered. He took the plate and popped one of the treats into his mouth. Then he took the bowls and turned towards the front door.

“I’m sorry.” Junhong looked at the ground and shifted his weight onto one foot. “For being a jackass.”

Youngjae hesitated, then turned around again. There was a coy half-grin on his face. “Apologize by helping me wash these dishes.”

“Okay.”

“Fetch water from the sea with that bucket.” Youngjae set the dishes down and rekindled the fire with ease. Junhong grabbed the bucket and stepped back out onto the porch.

He took a moment to breathe and see the world he was surrounded by. In all of his years in Riften, he’d never taken the time to see anything. He had been constantly filled with pumps of adrenaline that gave him tunnel vision, and all he had ever focused on was becoming the Guildmaster. But now, he was calm. For the first time in his life since he was left an orphan, he was calm. He closed his eyes as he felt the world wash over him. The waves of the sea around him crashed gently against docks and boats. The generic bustle and hum of a busy crowd in the marketplace nearby and the quiet pleas of the beggars felt both familiar and foreign to him. He heard the clanking of the guards’ armor ringing in the streets and breathed deeply. He could feel his mother beside him. The world was, for once, something he felt like he could live in.

“Junhong,” someone called. Junhong turned with a start and saw Youngjae walking towards him.

“Ah, sorry.” Junhong dipped his head and was about to scuttle down the steps to the dock below when a pull on his wrist kept him in place.

“Are you okay?” Youngjae had his head cocked to the side in concern. Junhong nodded his head quickly, a light blush of embarrassment covering his face, but Youngjae just smiled. “You were staring at the sea.”

“I’ve… I’ve never really looked at Riften. Actually looked. It’s always just been… There, but I’ve never noticed it.”

“It’s beautiful in its own ugly way.” Youngjae kicked at some dirt on the porch. “Horribly corrupt in population yet beautiful in its appearance.”

“Sounds like you,” Junhong teased. Youngjae raised an eyebrow at him, but Junhong walked down to fill the bucket before he could say anything. He came back up a moment later and Youngjae took the bucket from him with a small smile.

They went back inside and Youngjae poured the water into the dirty cooking pot, waiting for it to boil. When it did, they took it off the fire and let it cool until they could scrub it. They took it outside to the garden and wiped down the bowls together, letting the water slosh into the grass. And, as they cleaned out the remains of dried soup and dumpling crumbs, they felt oddly comfortable together. Despite all of the conflicts they’d had, it felt okay, even friendly, between them.

“I’m sorry for almost knocking you out with a glass bottle,” Junhong said. This time, though, the apology wasn’t filled with shame; rather, it was filled with teasing, a smile bridging the gap between them.

“My own bottle,” Youngjae responded. He couldn't help but smile back. “I forgive you.”

“Thank you for the food.”

"You're welcome, Junhong."


	3. Chapter 3

Youngjae stepped down the ladder into the Cistern, Junhong at his heels. “Brynjolf,” he called, his voice ringing in the stone walls around him. “Junhong and I are going on a heist in Solitude. Keep everyone in line while we’re away.”

“Can do,” Brynjolf shouted back, one eyebrow raised. He sent Junhong a look, one that Youngjae missed, but received no response. Junhong moved to his bed and reclaimed his dagger, tucking it into the sheath on his hip. He tucked his Dark Brotherhood armor in a knapsack, just in case he found a time to slip away and eliminate a contract target. He’d promised himself he would never let the Guild get linked to the Brotherhood; if the Brotherhood ever went down in flames, he wouldn’t want that to happen to the friends he’d found in the Guild. The Brotherhood was more of a part-time occupation for him, but the Guild was a full-time family.

He slung the pack over his shoulder and went back up the ladder, looking for Youngjae. Since he didn’t see him anywhere, he stopped by his mother’s grave and said a few parting words, promising he’d come back.

He straightened up when he heard the stone guarding the Cistern’s entrance move. Youngjae stepped up the stairs slowly, his lips pressed together in what appeared to be a goofy smile.

“Ready to go?” Youngjae asked. He rested his hand just above his eyebrows and looked up into the sky.

Junhong nodded. “You have everything?”

“If by everything, you mean lockpicks and empty pockets, yes.” Youngjae chuckled. “I have money for a few nights at an inn and any food we’ll need.”

“Great.”

“You sure have a full bag, though.”

“Yeah.” Junhong didn’t elaborate. Nobody in the Guild knew about his Brotherhood ties. And, if he could help it, nobody would.

Youngjae shrugged. “Let’s get moving, then.”

The two of them began the walk down the path into the town square and onwards out to the stables. They said little as they passed by. Various guards and townsfolk looked at them suspiciously. Many people were suspicious of their ties with the Guild, but they couldn’t prove it, and they weren’t sure they wanted to prove it. Other members of the Guild had known contact with members of the Brotherhood, and they were known to back each other up on more than one occasion. There were worries that turning a Guild member into the guards meant ending up in Riften’s Hall of the Dead.

Anyone in the Guild knew there were members here and there who would be left to rot in prison if they were turned in without any worry for the tattle-tale, but if people knew that, the reputation and image of the Guild as a close-knit family would fade. Still, though, there were some members everyone hated. Junhong had debated turning some in himself, but he had also been planning to be the Guildmaster, and the Guildmaster couldn’t betray his own people. The Guildmaster could, however, kick members out, an action that often resulted in assassination attempts.

But since he wasn’t the Guildmaster, he might just get some locked up.

Youngjae paid the carriage master to take them to Solitude and the two of them climbed into the back and sat down, an action that resulted in a slight groan from the driver. It was almost a day’s journey. The sun was setting right now, though, so they’d arrive in a timely manner to eat and rest up before stealing away the town’s riches under the light of Skyrim’s moons.

Youngjae quietly hoped they’d carry away their gems and gold hand-in-hand, but he kept that quiet.

They didn’t talk for a while. Junhong sat with a slump in his shoulders, his hands between his spread knees and his eyes back on Riften. He looked forlorn, almost scared. He continued to stare until they were far beyond the stables. Youngjae noticed a quiver in his fingers and placed a hand on Junhong’s knee.

Junhong jumped slightly, then looked at Youngjae, his eyes wide. His startled expression melted away to a shy one quickly. “I’ve never been out of Riften,” he lied. He’d left many times for Brotherhood contracts. In reality, he was worried about his mother. Grave robbers had been rising in Riften. “Not too far beyond the walls, I mean.”

“Before I came to Riften, I’d only ever left my hometown once. Fled, more like.”

“Fled?”

Youngjae sighed and looked away, dropping his hand from Junhong’s knee. “Born and raised in Markarth.”

“Oh.” Junhong’s blood ran cold. “I’m so sorry.”

Youngjae nodded, then tilted his head. He tucked his hair behind his ear, revealing a soft point at the top. “Not as sharp as the usual.” With a flick of his hair, the tip of his ear was once again hidden. He noticed the driver looking craning his head to look at the two of them and lowered his voice. “Half-blood,” he whispered. “Enough Nord blood in me to be a target for the Forsworn.”

Junhong reached out and put his hand on Youngjae’s, then looked towards the carriage driver, who was still looking at them. Anger boiled up in him quickly. “We’re paying you to drive us, not to eavesdrop,” he snapped. “Either turn around or I’ll shove you off and drive myself.”

“Easy,” Youngjae whispered. He cleared his throat. “I’ll pay you another twenty gold if you don’t repeat anything you hear during this trip.”

“The ride costs twenty, the silence costs fifty,” came the reply.

“What kind of sleezy-”

“Junhong,” Youngjae said sharply. “It’s fine.” Youngjae sighed and stood up, grabbing his bag of gold. Junhong caught his wrist and looked at him with a mix of anger and sadness. Youngjae flicked his eyes down towards Junhong’s hand and nodded. Once his fingers uncurled, Youngjae walked up to the driver.

“This is robbery,” Junhong said.

“So what?” Youngjae asked. He set the bag of gold next to the driver.

“My silence is yours,” they responded.

“We’re thieves, Junhong.” He sat back down, next to him this time. “We have all the riches in the world.” He leaned in to whisper into Junhong’s ear. “Plus, we can just steal it back. Driver will be dirt-tired once we get there.”

Junhong’s anger slowly dissipated and a sly grin covered his face. “I like you,” he whispered. “The way you think, I mean.”

Youngjae fought the smile and the butterflies that rose up in him. He placed his hand discreetly on his thigh and let calming magic pulse through it. Junhong was looking back towards Riften, though, so he didn’t notice.

Junhong pointed at the setting sun and looked at the sky with Youngjae before the moons came out to play. Then, under the moonlight, when the carriage driver began to doze off and the horses trotted along by memory, they began planning their route through the capital. They would dash through every wing of the Blue Palace, and, if they weren’t satisfied, loot the shops near the city’s entrance. If they had the time and energy, they might even go to the blacksmith’s and fletcher’s shops. Youngjae had been wanting a new dagger for a while, and Junhong was running low on crossbow bolts.

“It feels kind of bad, though,” Youngjae said after a pause. “Robbing Solitude. It was where family fled and I fled after the Forsworn drove us out.”

Junhong didn’t know what to say, so he placed his hand on top of Youngjae’s.

“My brother and I had to become guards in order to stay alive. It provided food, shelter, and small sums of gold here and there. Our parents couldn’t hold a job anywhere, so we sent our money back to them so they could afford their house.” He sighed, twisting his wrist to lace his fingers together with Junhong’s. “I was twelve. I could barely carry a sword, so they gave me a boy and had me practice shooting arrows at targets all day. Hours and hours on end, just shooting arrows.” He leaned his head against Junhong’s shoulder with a yawn. “I’m worried some of the guards will recognize me. They called me Dead Eye. A bit unoriginal, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Junhong froze, not wanting to nudge Youngjae off. After all of their months spent stealing side-by-side, this was the closest they’d ever been, both physically and emotionally. “I was born, raised, and orphaned in Riften. Went to that wretched orphanage. Didn’t shed a tear when the Brotherhood offed its old hag of a mistress.”

“Grelod the Kind, right?”

“Not kind at all.” Junhong sighed, involuntarily moving his shoulders and causing Youngjae to lift his head away.

“What was your life like before you were there?”

Junhong tensed up, his fingers squeezing around Youngjae’s hand. “My mother was…”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s okay.” Junhong exhaled deeply, loosening his strangling grip on Youngjae’s hand. “She was a Guildmaster.”

Youngjae’s breath hitched. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You can have the title, I-”

“It’s fine.”

“Gods, no, it isn’t, Junhong. I stole it from you.”

“Isn’t stealing what thieves do?” Junhong asked, pulling his hand away from Youngjae’s. Youngjae could hear the pain in his voice. “I don’t want it.”

“Yes, you do. You almost killed me over it.”

“I want it, but I can’t have it.”

“What?”

“I’m not fit to be a leader.” Junhong looked at Youngjae, then looked away. “Not by myself, anyways. I need time. I need practice.” He saw Youngjae open his mouth to protest out of the corner of his eye and sighed. “We’re not talking about this right now.”

Youngjae closed his mouth and nodded.

“She never told me. She was killed by a jealous member of the Guild who wanted her title for themself.” Junhong dropped his head. “I know you won’t believe me, but I wouldn’t have killed you over the title. For one thing, I’m not Mercer Frey, and for another, I couldn’t do that to my mother.”

“I understand.” Youngjae slipped their fingers back together. “How did you find out?”

“When I joined the Guild and gave them my name, whispers echoed. Nothing stays quiet down there for long, unless you’re deadly careful.” Junhong cracked a slight smirk at his own pun. _Deadly careful._ His secret about being an assassin with the Brotherhood. “Her grave is the one closest to the Cistern entrance. That’s why I’m there sometimes. I bring her flowers.” He smiled faintly. “She talks to me sometimes. Does that sound weird?”

“No.” Youngjae squeezed Junhong’s hand. “I’m from Markarth. All I saw for a long time was death. Of course I saw ghosts and spirits, too. There was a haunted house in Markarth.”

“Not haunted,” Junhong mumbled. He cleared his throat, hoping Youngjae hadn’t heard that. “She gives me guidance when I’m lost, which is why I went to her when you became Guildmaster.”

“What did she say?”

“She called you a sweet roll-eating phony.” Junhong chuckled. “She said you weren’t the real Guildmaster and told me to talk to you.”

“And then you tried to punch me?”

“After you asked me to date you.” Junhong smirked as Youngjae pulled his hand away in embarrassment. “You gay nerd.”

“Don’t call me a nerd. It sounds too affectionate.”

“You are whipped for me, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.” Youngjae rolled his eyes and looked away. His heartbeat sped up when he felt Junhong’s arm slide over his shoulders. He pressed his hand against his thigh again, letting the magic calm him.

“If it makes you feel less embarrassed, I do like boys.”

Youngjae’s magic fizzled out and his cheeks flushed. “You gay nerd,” he mumbled.

Junhong chuckled, and Youngjae felt it in his back as he rested against Junhong. “Sounds about right,” Junhong said, his voice vibrating against Youngjae’s body. Youngjae sighed and closed his eyes. There was an electric silence between them for a few minutes. Once he regained his focus, he let more magic course through his body. He took a breath, making sure it wasn’t shaky, and then opened his mouth.

“So, you like boys, but do you like me?”

“Nope.”

Youngjae’s heart would have crashed, but the magic kept it from doing so.

“Not yet, anyways.”

And the magic fizzled out again.

\-----

They slept a few hours later when the sun began to paint the sky again. Youngjae fell asleep last and woke up first, so he made sure to worm away from Junhong’s cuddly grip before the younger boy woke up. He wasn’t sure which of them had snuggled up to the other during their slumber, but one thing was certain: he was draining his Magicka reserves.

Despite their growling stomachs, they didn’t stop until they reached Solitude, and then they feasted at the inn. With full tummies, they dashed off to a nearby spring and bathed, then returned and rented a room when the sun was just dipping under the skyline.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, because they forgot to steal their money back from the carriage driver, they could only afford one room, meaning they could only afford one bed. There was a large bit of awkwardness between them, and Junhong tried multiple times to give Youngjae the bed and sleep in a chair, but Youngjae refused to let him. In the end, they were facing different ways on the same bed, trying to ignore their situation. They both liked boys, one of them liked the other, and the other was either developing a crush or just really liked snuggling and wasn’t sure which it was. They both wanted to be close, but they didn’t know how to voice it, so they kept their distance for a while.

After about an hour of unrest, Junhong rolled over, half-asleep, and slung an arm over Youngjae’s hip. “Come here,” he mumbled. “You need to sleep.”

Youngjae’s breath hitched and he tensed up. His hesitation made Junhong speak again.

“I know you’ll sleep better if we’re cuddling, so just come here. We have a long night ahead, and you need your rest.”

Youngjae hesitated before he spoke. “Isn’t this weird for you?”

“Maybe. I’m too tired to tell.” He pulled Youngjae closer to him and readjusted their blanket, then laid his arm on Youngjae’s hip again.

Youngjae’s heart was racing, but he didn’t bother tapping into any magic to stop it. He slowly relaxed as his back pressed against Junhong’s chest. He whispered a quiet, “Thank you,” to which Junhong responded with a groan and a nuzzle of his nose against Youngjae’s hair.

Youngjae found it shocking he could feel so safe when his heart was beating so hard, and fall asleep when his mind was racing so fast, but he didn’t let it bother him. There were other kinds of calming magic than the illusionary kind, after all. Junhong was one of them.

\-----

After a short nap, Junhong stirred awake. He blinked a few times, sleep still laden in his senses, before his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Youngjae’s back was still against his chest, and the shirt he’d put on rode up on his side a bit. Junhong moved his arm and rested his fingers gently on the skin just above Youngjae’s hip. He nuzzled his nose against Youngjae’s hair again and mumbled into his neck, “I like you, but I don’t want you to get hurt.” He pressed a kiss to into Youngjae’s hair. “I’m not who you think I am.”

He took his hand off of Youngjae’s skin and pulled his shirt back down, then rolled away. His fingers glided through the strands his hair as he tried to ignore his stress. He reached below their bed to grab his knapsack and grabbed his small, black dagger, one that nobody knew he had, then slipped silently out the door. His target was in one of the nearby rooms, so finding him didn’t take long, and neither did the killing.

He hid his dagger behind his back and ducked down to the main entrance of the inn. The bartender was busy preparing drinks for once-rowdy drunkards now quiet with sleepiness with his back turned to Junhong. Without a worry in the world, he walked up to the bartender, unnoticed by the inn’s patrons, and grabbed the rag from the belt around his waist. He turned and headed back towards the stairs, wiping the blood from his blade on the way. He tossed the slightly reddened rag into the fire as he walked by. His breath was frozen as he crept back into his and Youngjae’s room, hoping he hadn’t stirred. He didn’t let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Youngjae hadn’t stirred, instead putting his dagger back into his knapsack and climbing back into bed with him. The glance he’d taken outside while looking around told him the moons were rising and it was the prime time for their heist.The sky had even taken to shedding a few tears, perhaps over the hopelessness of his feelings for Youngjae. Even so, he let himself hold Youngjae for a few moments longer until he began to stir.

“Junhong?” Youngjae mumbled before he opened his eyes. A heavy exhale racked his body. “Is it time to go?”

“Probably,” Junhong whispered back. It took all of his self-control to keep himself from kissing Youngjae’s hair again. He forced himself to get up first, opening the wardrobe and pulling out his armor. He saw the white-gold glow of the candle out of the corner of his eye. He pulled his sleep shirt off over his head in one swift motion and grabbed a clean one.

He heard Youngjae’s breath hitch behind him and blushed gently, quickly pulling the shirt over his shoulders again. He put on his Guild chestpiece and then turned around to see Youngjae pulling on his own shirt. He let out a quiet curse at the sight of Youngjae’s shoulders, then changed into the rest of his armor without looking at him again. He pulled a dagger from the wardrobe, different than the one he’d just used, and looked at it. He smiled when the memory of Youngjae stealing his dagger all those months ago came back. A quiet chuckling noise pulled him back to the present.

“Malachite, right?” Youngjae asked again. A small smile stretched across his face.

“And moonstone.”

“I hope you don’t have to use it.”

Junhong nodded, his heart dropping at the tone in Youngjae’s voice. He wondered what Youngjae would do if he discovered his Brotherhood ties. After a moment, he really didn’t want to think about it, so he spoke again. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Junhong tilted his head, then walked up to Youngjae and pulled his hood up. “It’s raining. I can hear it.” He flipped up his own hood with a smile.

“Thank you, because I care so much about my hair right now.”

“I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“How sweet,” Youngjae said as he walked out their room’s door. The two of them walked up to the entrance undisturbed, as all of the patrons were still distracted in their ale and song. Junhong pushed open the door slowly.

Youngjae let out a sigh. “They don’t call this month Rain’s Hand for nothing.”

“They don’t.” Junhong stretched out his hand as raindrops fell into his palm, then flicked his fingers at Youngjae. “Rain’s hand.”

Youngjae rolled his eyes with an affectionate smile. “Nerd,” he said as he began walking off down the street.

“Excuse you, that’s gay nerd.”

“Excuse me, but you better be quiet before you draw attention to yourself.”

“The palace is across town, and the guards can’t arrest us until we’ve done something.”

“No, but the town is teeming with drunkards, and I’d probably get annoyed if some tipsy women started drooling over you.”

“Because that’s your job?”

“Because we’re on a tight schedule, Junhong,” Youngjae mumbled. A moment later, he added, “And, yes, because that’s my job.”

Junhong threw an arm over Youngjae’s shoulder with a chuckle as they walked off together to begin their legacy as an infamous duo of thieves.


End file.
